


bro code

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [16]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “I came out to Chaps,” Robbie says.
“Didn’t go so well?” Crane asks.
“Understatement,” Robbie mutters.





	

Robbie gets in about twenty minutes of hardcore feeling sorry for himself before Matty gets back from breakfast, which just fucking figures. Can’t even dwell in peace without getting interrupted. Wonderful.

“You go back to sleep?” Matty asks, and Robbie shrugs.

“Robbie?” Matty says. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Robbie says into his pillow. He doubts he sounds very convincing.

“Bardi,” Matty says, and Robbie can feel his bed shift as Matty presumably sits down.

It’s Matty’s room too, so Robbie can’t exactly tell him to go fuck off, except Matty puts a hand on Robbie’s shoulder and Robbie knows he’s going to either blow the fuck up at him or have a total meltdown of the crying until his eyes are swollen and he’s a snotty mess, something he hasn’t had to deal with since fucking _college_ , and nope. Not happening.

“Matty, fuck off,” Robbie says. “Seriously.”

“Okay,” Matty says, sounding doubtful, but he leaves after a minute, so easy Robbie’s a little suspicious.

He was 100% right to be suspicious, because five minutes later the door’s opening, and there are two sets of footsteps.

“If you got Quincy I swear to fucking god, Elliott,” Robbie says.

“Worse,” Crane says. “Sit the fuck up.”

Fuck, that _is_ worse. If Crane didn’t become a goalie Robbie thinks he would have made a hell of an interrogator for whatever Canada’s version of the CIA is. Shit doesn’t stay hidden from Crane if he wants to know the answer. Luckily he’s not really a curious kind of guy, but now that Matty’s sicced him on Robbie, no fucking way Crane’s not getting it out of him.

“No,” Robbie says.

“Now, Bardi,” Crane says, and Robbie knows if he doesn’t he can be expecting a brutal jab to the ribs, so he does, making sure to glare at Matty as he does so. Matty looks guilty. Good.

“Fuck off,” Robbie says. “This is none of your fucking business, Devon.”

“You kicked Matty out of his own room,” Crane says matter-of-factly. “You have the biggest bitch face I’ve ever seen on you, and I’ve seen plenty of bitch faces from you. I’m making it my business.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Robbie enunciates.

“You okay?” Crane asks, as gentle as Robbie’s ever heard him.

“No,” Robbie says, disarmed.

“What’s up?” Crane asks.

“I came out to Chaps,” Robbie says.

“Didn’t go so well?” Crane asks.

“Understatement,” Robbie mutters.

“Understatement how?” Matty butts in.

“He was worse than you, that’s for fucking sure,” Robbie says. “And you didn’t do so good yourself.”

“I know,” Matty says. “I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing, you know I forgave you a million years ago,” Robbie says.

“Understatement how?” Crane repeats.

“Wait,” Robbie says, in sudden realization. “You tricked me. This was your Canadian CIA interrogation thing. You bastard.”

“Okay, Bardi,” Crane says, then sits beside him and pats his shoulder. “Understatement how?”

“I’m on to you,” Robbie says. “I’m not telling you shit.”

Crane just looks at him with those clear gray eyes.

“He walked out when I told him,” Robbie says reluctantly.

“Like, after, or during, or,” Matty says. He looks like he’s about to literally wring his fucking hands. Guy couldn’t be more of a fretter. 

“Right in the fucking middle,” Robbie says. “Like I was contagious.”

“Fuck,” Crane says. “Sorry, dude.”

Robbie shrugs. “Is what it is,” he says, more casual than he feels.

“Let’s get you some brunch,” Crane says.

“Not really hungry, dude,” Robbie says. 

“Too bad, I am, and you’re not hiding here all day and starving yourself,” Crane says. “C’mon.”

Robbie groans when Crane grabs his wrist, resists when Matty gets in on it, but eventually they lever him up. 

“Congrats on your All Star nom, Dev,” Robbie says in the elevator, belatedly remembering. It’s only been up since this morning, but it feels like a long time ago, now.

“Eh, knew I’d get it,” Crane says.

“Matty?” Robbie asks.

“On it,” Matty says, and smacks Crane upside the head for being exactly as arrogant about it as they knew he’d be.

After brunch and Matty bombarding him with about a million cat videos and and effectively keeping him hostage to cuteness until they have to head out, Robbie’s feeling, like. Not great, but okay. Matty’s good at that, distracting him from shit. 

Robbie’s especially distracted when they get in the lobby, because in response to a comment by Craney about Cuba, Matty admits he’s never been south of the US, which is fucking ridiculous and needs to be rectified. 

“All-Star break,” Robbie decides.

“Huh?” Matty asks.

“You and me and sun and sand and Craney can be cold and miserable in Cleveland,” Robbie says. 

Crane frowns at him. “Not cool,” he says.

“Suck it up, all-star,” Robbie says. “Yes or yes, Elliot? Not Cuba, but like. Maybe Mexico or the Bahamas or something.”

“I don’t feel like I have a lot of choices here,” Matty says.

“Good catch,” Robbie says. “So that’s a yes?”

Matty sighs. “Fine.”

“It’s so cute that you’re going on a couple’s trip,” Crane says, voice flat.

“Right?” Robbie says. “I treat my boy _good_.”

Matty smacks his arm.

“Yeah, you like it rough, huh, Matty? I can roll with that,” Robbie says, and Matty squawks and then pulls him into a loose headlock while Crane rolls his eyes so hard he looks like he’s going to hurt himself.

When Robbie straightens up out of it he can feel eyes on him. Quick glance confirms Georgie’s staring, but that’s not what he gets caught on. Chapman’s staring too, solid eye contact, then makes like he’s going to come over. You’d think someone who couldn’t even hear the word gay without breaking into hives would be avoiding eye contact like a mofo right now, like he might catch it from Robbie otherwise. But hey, considering Chapman’s knee-jerk no homo bullshit, maybe he’s repressed shit so hard he’s blocked the whole thing out. 

Robbie narrows his eyes, and Chapman thankfully steers himself in Kurmazov’s direction, because there are bro fouls, and then there’s what that was, which — that was fucked up. When you beat out Robbie’s father for ‘taking it the worst’, well. 

Robbie tries to ignore Chapman with all the might in the world on the trip to Tampa. He can’t deal with him right now, but he also knows if he starts glaring Cap Q’s going to notice it, and the last thing Robbie needs right now is another lecture about biasing the team. Though considering Quincy’s little bro’s gay, he might be sympathetic, but Robbie doesn’t really want sympathy either.

“Guys, don’t,” Robbie says, when they reach the hotel, because Matty’s narrowing his eyes at Chapman, and Wheels follows suit, obviously having picked up that shit’s going down, since Matty isn’t the glaring type. 

They quit it before Quincy notices, at least, if not before Chapman does, which Robbie’s kind of viciously grateful for. Doesn’t want him thinking that his bullshit’s normal, and Matty having his back like this is…well. Not what Robbie would have expected after he came out to him rookie year and Matty acted awkward as fuck for a week and changed in the bathroom like Robbie was going to lose control and jump him or something. He’s grown out of that, obviously. They’re going on a platonic couple’s trip and everything.

Wheels chills in their room while they marathon The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. “You don’t have to rap along every time, Bardi,” Wheels says during the fourth episode.

“Yes I do,” Robbie says. “Yes I do.”

They manage six episodes before Wheels heads back to his own room, and it’s not super late or anything, but Matty’s ready to head to bed, so. Guess Robbie’s going to bed.

Robbie’s trying and failing to sleep when he hears a voice in the darkness. “I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding or something,” Matty says. “It’ll be okay.”

“Elliot, I love you to death,” Robbie says. 

“Uh oh,” Matty says.

“But if you give me any more of this rainbows and sunshine ‘it’ll be fine!’ bullshit I’m going to fucking fight you,” Robbie says.

“Okay,” Matty says. He’s quiet for a moment. “If you tried to fight me you’d lose,” he says.

“I’d try anyway,” Robbie says.

“You’d lose badly,” Matty says.

“Fully aware,” Robbie says. 

“Love you to death too, Bardi,” Matty says. “If that helps at all.”

Robbie closes his eyes. “Thanks,” he says, because it does. Just a little, but right now, he can’t ask for anything more.

*

The first couple of weeks after getting dumped, Robbie basically does school and hockey and that’s about it. He’s not super interested in going out, and Georgie doesn’t push him on it, except to drag him to Providence on a rare weekend they have free. The Dineens are crazy nice, and crazy close. Robbie spends the weekend getting his ass kicked in video games, road hockey, two touch, and red hands, and enjoys the hell out of it, honestly. Georgie’s brothers are like mini-Georgies — William’s kind of shy and serious, and Dicky’s a goofball in a way that Georgie isn’t, but all three of them are smart and nice and have this completely effortless charisma that makes it impossible not to like them. 

Things kind of go back to normal after that weekend. Pre-Francis, or something similar. Robbie gets to keep like, custody or whatever in the study group. Francis didn’t do anything wrong, so he had more right to it, but Cassidy drags him along after he misses a couple weeks and when Robbie tentatively asks she says, “Francis says you need it more.”

That stings a little, because Robbie’s not stupid or anything, he’s doing okay, but Francis is better at it, gets math instinctively in a way Robbie doesn’t, so like. He’s not wrong. It hammers in the whole Francis not wanting to have anything to do with him, but it’s nice, too, when he thinks about it. They were studying together before Robbie came in, so giving it up because Robbie needs it more? Francis is a good guy. Robbie knew that, but.

He feels like such an asshole. 

Tara silently glowers at him the first session, but she seems to get over it after that, mostly, though she sits with Francis in class and ignores his existence unless they’re studying. The study group is totally responsible for Robbie’s more than decent grades, though, so fuck if he’s jeopardizing it by calling her out on being Team Francis. He’d be on Team Francis if he was her too.

Cassidy isn’t Team Francis. Like, she’s not _not_ Team Francis or anything, and he thinks they still hang, but she hangs with Robbie too. Once Robbie quits his self-imposed partying exile, she hangs out with him at a couple. Seems to know everyone, is suddenly friends with people five minutes after meeting them, the kind of thing Georgie does and that Robbie wishes he could do, but she still chooses to stick with him, which is flattering.

He reconsiders it a bit at a party where her and Georgie conveniently disappear and reappear at similar times, a probably not coincidence that leaves a sour taste in Robbie’s mouth. He’s waiting for Georgie to announce Cassify as another hot-ass girlfriend in a string of hot girlfriends, wondering if he should have warned her that Georgie’s not really the girlfriend kind, whatever he says, Alternately wondering if Cassidy’s going to drop him now that his proximity helped her get the D or whatever, but she chills with him at the next one, acts the same as always, even though Georgie skipped it to finish an essay.

Robbie wonders if he’s gotten paranoid or something, seeing shit that isn’t there, resentful of the idea of his friends having sex when he’s not getting any. Or, if he’s being honest, jealous of Cassidy for getting exactly what he wants, what he hates himself for wanting, what he knows he can’t have. He feels like a fucking creeper about it, but it’s not a feeling he can just wave a hand and make disappear. Fuck knows if he could he would.

“Did you fuck Georgie?” Robbie blurts out toward the end of the night, when booze has overtaken his self-restraint and also his dignity.

“Oh honey,” Cassidy says, which isn’t an answer but feels like one.

“Was he good?” Robbie asks.

“Let’s get you home,” Cassidy says. “Okay?”

“Fine,” Robbie says. “Sure.”

Robbie’s mortified in the morning, because Cassidy’s not stupid and that was like a neon sign ‘I am so jealous that you fucked Georgie’, but she doesn’t mention it again, and Robbie takes her cue with both her and Georgie. It’s none of his business who Georgie fucks. Would be hard to keep track anyway, because Robbie swears every weekend there’s some new chick, if Georgie doesn’t decide he’ll stick with whichever one before he gets bored or drunk and horny. Robbie doesn’t hook up, doesn’t particularly want to, and anyway he’s too fucking busy now to fall into another relationship. Georgie can get laid for the both of them.

The end of the Terriers season is kind of anti-climatic. They get knocked out in the Quarter-Finals, which is a fucking embarrassment, especially because Boston College not only makes it to the Frozen Four, but makes the Finals. They don’t win, thank fuck, because Robbie’s pretty sure life would be straight up intolerable if they did. Fuck knows no one would be letting them forget it.

The only good thing about getting knocked out is his schedule opening up a bit, but Robbie doesn’t actually have any more free time than he did, since he’s cramming and panicking about finals, and it’s like he blinks once and then the semester’s through and everyone’s gone from studying every hour of the day to packing their shit up and getting gone. Georgie’s leaving a day before Robbie, getting picked up by his mom, and Robbie helps him carry his stuff out, then waits on the sidewalk with him when his mom calls to give him a five minute warning.

Georgie’s got a busy summer: rookie camp for the Barons, a training thing with some Team USA guys in Upstate New York, capped off with training camp and the preseason. If he’s coming back to BU, he’s coming back late, but he might not be coming back at all, and Robbie’s a selfish jerk, because he kind of hopes the Barons wait another year or two before tapping him. There’s no guarantee, so it feels kind of final, like goodbye. Robbie hates goodbyes, so he just shoves his hands in his pockets, shifts from foot to foot, waits for Georgie’s mom to come take him away.

“So I’ll see you in September,” Robbie says. “I mean. Maybe.”

“September, dude?” Georgie asks. “I’m bouncing back and forth, but I mean, you’re coming to Providence when I get a break. Keeping me honest about my training or whatever.”

“Am I?” Robbie asks. “I don’t remember you inviting me.”

“Like you need an invitation to come,” Georgie says, and Robbie feels a little warm. “You’d just invite yourself anyway,” he adds.

Asshole.

“Hey,” Robbie objects.

“Just saying,” Georgie says. “You’re welcome to invite yourself. Which you’re totally going to do.”

“Well maybe I won’t now,” Robbie says.

“Liar,” Georgie says. He looks down at his phone. “Mom’s around the corner,” he says. “C’mere.”

He pulls Robbie into a tight hug, Robbie’s face banging into his chest. Robbie would object, but. It’s a nice chest. “Love you, man,” Georgie says, chest moving under Robbie’s cheek, arms tight around him, and Robbie — it’s stupid, but Robbie doesn’t want him to let go.

“Thanks,” Robbie says, muffled.

Georgie laughs, and Robbie feels that too, rumbling through his body. “Okay, Han Solo,” Georgie says. “Asshole.”

“You too,” Robbie says.

“I’m an asshole too?” Georgie asks.

“Yup,” Robbie says, finally pulling away as Georgie loosens his grip. “But. You know. You too.”

Georgie looks at him with this inscrutable face he gets sometimes, the one that drives Robbie nuts, that Robbie can’t begin to figure out. He looks like he’s going to say something, but a car honks, and he jerks his head in that direction, waves at his mom.

“Providence,” Georgie says, pointing at him. 

“Providence,” Robbie agrees. “God is my protector.”

“Nerd,” Georgie says.

“Douche,” Robbie counters.

Georgie ruffles his hair. “I gotta go,” he says. “Say you love me properly, Roberto.”

“You love me properly, Roberto,” Robbie says dutifully, and when Georgie tips his head back to laugh, Robbie looks at the long column of his throat, the crinkles around his eyes, and loves him so much he feels a little sick with it.


End file.
